“Who said this?” I ask, intrigued. “Another philosopher? I’m not familiar with him.”
“Not him.Her,” he says. “Diotima was one of Socrates’ teachers, mainly about love. She was very wise, and according to her, you were loving right. It’s not your fault that Teddy was too selfish to return the favor.”
The warmth behind my ribs swells, blossoming into something dangerously close to real tenderness.
Which is not good. Not good at all.
This is pretend with a side of friendship.Maybe. If Nix continues to prove himself to be an interesting, genuine guy. This isnotthe time nor the place for giddy, swoony shit.
Too bad it’s so hard to remember that when he’s looking at me like he thinks I’m something special.
Like he’d know how to treat me right if I gave him the chance…
I clear my throat. “Well, thank you again, but that isn’t relevant anymore,” I say, doing my best to break the spell before I do something stupid. “I don’t love Teddy. I haven’t for a long time, and I’d rather not waste any more mental energy thinking about him until a few days before the wedding. We can plan our ‘Teach Teddy a Lesson he Won’t Soon Forget’ strategy then. For now, we should concentrate on building your reputation as a stable, reformed team player. Show the Voodoo management that punching that guy was an aberration, not a pattern.”
Nix studies me for another beat, looking like he would rather keep probing the philosophical underpinnings of love, but finally nods. “Okay. So, what are you thinking? I mean, we could do the obvious things. Follow each other on socials. Leak some cute couple shots. You sit with the wives and girlfriends at the first home game; I cast glances your way every time I come off the ice. It’s Thursday, by the way. If you’re free, I can get your name on the list tomorrow.”
“Yes, I’m free, and that’s all good,” I say. “But we need something more visible. And sooner. Four days is a month in gossip time.”
He grunts. “Okay, maybe a group date? Or we could do a couples’ cooking class or pottery, or something. That’s stable-relationship coded.”
As he brainstorms, making perfectly reasonable, PR-firm-worthy suggestions, a more…creative idea takes root in my mind.
The more I mull it over, the more perfect it seems.
I’m already signed up to help with the event, one that’s completely at odds with his bad-boy image. Not to mention the kind of photo-op that could garner attention from more than just local media. If we play it right, this could trend on social media, make the local news, maybe even land a feature on some of the national hockey blogs.
And the best part?
It’ll be a blast to watch, especially if I spring it on Nix without time to prepare. There’s nothing more adorable than a big, strong man flustered and out of his element in the name of the greater good.
“What?” His gaze narrows on mine.
“What, what?” I ask, wondering if I’ve missed something while I was in the scheming zone.
“Your face,” he says. “You look like you’re up to something.”
I blink innocently. “What? Me? Never.”
He hums beneath his breath. “Right. I believe that, like I believe the fox in the henhouse is there to take attendance.”
I drain the last of my coffee, tossing it into a trash can beside the path as I silently run through the logistics. The calls I’ll need to make. The arrangements to be made.
It shouldn’t be that hard.
I was planning to volunteer anyway. I doubt anyone will mind if I bring a “friend” along and make sure the press gets tipped off in advance. What charity ever turned down free publicity?
“So?” Nix prompts again. “Are you going to share with the class? Or keep me in suspense?”
A slow smile curves my lips. “Suspense. Definitely suspense.”
He laughs, but there’s a hint of worry in his voice as he asks, “Are you sure? I mean, I know I seem like a man who can roll with the punches. But put me in the right situation, and I can be…”
“A little punchy?” I supply, arching a teasing brow.
I’m flirting with him now. For real. I could deny it, but deep down, I know what this is.
More importantly,heknows it, a fact he proves by wrapping an arm around my waist. “Yes,” he says, drawing me in, “which is what we’re trying to avoid. Help me out here, woman. At least give me a clue.”
